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Oct. 29th, 2011 12:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyrimkinkmemeANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017
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Re: Fire and Potions - 41/?
Date: 2014-07-26 03:01 am (UTC)-------
Farengar felt his teeth grind together, his ears ringing with the deafening roar of politics. He tried to distract himself from the seemingly unending, banal discussions by staring resolutely into the crackling hearth at the center of the room, focusing intently on the fiery coals. Morning light had bathed the room when they had begun. Now the the sky outside was dark, leaving only the blazing hearth to light the room. Skyrim’s rulers, eight jarls and their respective courts, bathed in its warm, red glow, casting long shadows across the walls and their tattered banners.
“I understand what’s best for Solitude,” Erikur droned on, touting his financial ties within the city, speaking with a self-important air.
Farengar suppressed an exasperated sigh threatening to escape from his throat. The moot had not even begun. They could not reach that spectacular level of tedium until they first selected a new jarl for Solitude. A feat which had proven too difficult for its own court.
He let his gaze drift around the room, glancing at each of the court wizards in turn. A mere five in total, due to three of Skyrim’s holds eschewing the office. Their expressions clearly mirrored his own inner boredom.
A common trend from all gathered, he noticed, was to cast curious glances toward the Dragonborn, who was seated between Irileth and Proventus. Against his better judgement, Farengar let his eyes wander to Therion.
There was something markedly different about the elf the last few days, which was in no small way related to his appearance. Normally, he avoided any form of armor which obscured his face. However, sometime before they had reached Solitude, Farengar had watched him cover the lower half of his face with a mask and pull his black hood low, concealing himself entirely. A strange gesture from the vain elf.
The effect was an unnerving one. Therion’s body seemed to vanish into shadow unless one’s eyes remained locked on him at all times. He could no longer be distinguished as an elf, just a tall, undefinable figure with unreadable intent, following the court of Whiterun like a dangerous shadow.
Farengar was roused from his thoughts by Bryling interrupting Erikur in a commanding voice.
“This godsforsaken war has divided our people and destroyed our land. If we’re to have lasting peace in Skyrim, we need a ruler in Solitude who follows the proud traditions of our fathers, with more on their mind than lining their pockets. I would lead this city with honor.”
Erikur glared at her, long standing hatred in his eyes, and Bryling returned the look in kind. The animosity between them was not slight; it was the kind grown from years of being at one another’s throats in close quarters. There was no doubt that one wanted the other dead with an equal enthusiasm.
“Brynling’s obsession with honor and tradition is… quaint, but politically irrelevant,” Erikur replied. With this statement, the two of them were off, launching into yet another argument.
Farengar desperately wished he were anywhere else. Perhaps in the jaws of a dragon.
Jarl Brina Merilis, the Jarl of Dawnstar, interrupted the thanes’ quarrel.
“Why don’t we try letting someone else speak. Gain an outside perspective on matters.”
Her tone was authoritative, leaving little room for argument, the old woman’s background as an Imperial Legate clearly evident in her posture and clipped words.
“Yes,” agreed Jarl Kraldar. The Jarl of Winterhold thoughtfully stroked his white beard adding, “I’d like to hear the Dragonborn’s thoughts on the matter.”
All eyes swept toward the dark figure seated at Whiterun’s corner of the table, a quiet hush falling over the room.
Farengar could feel tension mounting, as the moot watched the Dragonborn, silent and foreboding.
Finally, a hoarse breath came from beneath his dark hood, followed by another, before breaking into a loud snore.
Farengar involuntarily snorted, quickly covering his mouth to hide his expression.
Jarl Balgruuf gave Irileth a meaningful look, and the dark elf forcefully kicked the leg of Therion’s chair with her iron boot.